Just Like Old Times
by HalfASlug
Summary: It's the night before Halloween and Harry, Ron and Hermione are sneaking around. For a change.


_A/N: Welcome to the Treehouse of Trio IV! Let's move on from how weird it is that I've been doing this fanfic thing long enough to have four year long tradition, shall we? There's a bit of a time jump here so if you're worried that someone has died in the interim then don't. Everyone is still alive. Everyone. Yes, even them._

 _Happy Halloween, folks!_

 _Disclaimer: If you'd read the a/n that clearly states that everyone is alive then you'd know I'm definitely not JKR._

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"Now before we go any further, you're both sure you want to be involved in this?"

Hermione glanced from Ron to Harry, searching for a tell tale sign of fear in their familiar faces. She was glad they'd came this far with her, but things were likely to escalate and it was only fair that she gave them the chance to save themselves.

"We've been through slightly worse together," Ron chuckled. "I think I can hack it."

"Yeah, it'd be a bit rich for me to draw the line here," Harry agreed.

The three of them were stood in the kitchen of George and Angelina's house, whispering in the darkness with only their pyjamas, slippers and dressing gowns to keep them warm. The Invisibility Cloak had long been given to the younger generation where it was much more needed.

Of course, they could've used Disillusionment Charms, but where was the fun in that?

"If you're sure," Hermione whispered, walking along the long table, covered in silver food platters. Most of them were filled with Halloween themed snacks and cakes, all bright orange in colour, with the Weasley Wizard Wheezes logo proudly displayed on top.

Remembering the humble beginnings of the now international business, Hermione smiled to herself. It was short lived, however, when they reached the centrepiece: a huge cake sculpture of the twins, fresh out of Hogwarts, outside their new premises. She focussed on George and narrowed her eyes.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, love?" Ron asked from behind her.

"He told the _Prophet_ my pumpkin pie was worthy of becoming a Wheeze and was only rejected on the grounds that the _results, while uniformly catastrophic, were too varied to be marketed properly,_ " she recited.

Harry cleared his throat. "Yes - ten years ago."

Hermione whipped around, a feat harder that it used to be even with the added balance of her walking stick. "Have you not heard of luring people into a false sense of security?"

Holding his wrinkled hands up, Harry visibly backed away from her.

"Still not sure why you had to tell him," she muttered to Ron. "Secrecy was supposed to be the key."

"It's traditional that we do mental stuff together - especially on Halloween," Ron said defensively. He plucked a brownie off the table and took a bite out of it. "Bloody hell, these are good."

They paused next to a plate of pumpkin shaped ginger biscuits. Six years ago, Hermione had learnt that these were George's favourites. It had only taken three years to develope a powder that could blend in perfectly and another two before she was sure it untraceable by any of George's security measures.

Hermione considered this time well spent. Ron had learnt to agree.

"Rose'll go ballistic if she sees you eating one of those," Harry pointed out to Ron with a frown. His friend wasn't deterred and helped himself to a chocolate fairy cake with fangs.

"'xac'ly," he mumbled around the crumbs before swallowing with difficulty. "Her and those healers have had me eating flobberworm food long enough."

"I'm only ignoring what you're doing for as long as it takes to get this done, Ron," Hermione said lightly as she took a jar out of her pocket.

Ron defiantly took another bite out of the cake and his teeth nearly fell out. Laughing, Harry lowered himself into one of the chairs, a hand pressed against his lower back.

"We won't be here long enough for you to sit down," reprimanded Hermione.

"Especially with how long it takes you to stand up these days," Ron added and Harry threw him a dirty look.

While they continued their argument with increasingly silly faces and rude hand gestures, Hermione leant over the table and sprinkled tiny amounts of glittering powder over the ginger biscuits, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"There. I think that's all of it," she said, squinting at the jar. "I miss the days before wearing glasses."

"Don't we all," deadpanned Harry.

The jar was stowed away in Hermione's pocket once more and Ron took her hand. "You still look more beautiful in them than you did yesterday," he told her with a small smile.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't fight the blush growing on her cheeks. "That compliment gets cheesier every time, Ron."

"You love it."

"I do."

"If you two start snogging, I will hex you."

"Sorry, Harry."

"I'm not."

"Ron!"

With many groans and moans, they climbed the stairs to the guest rooms they were staying in before the grand party the following evening when the clock in the hall struck twelve. They paused outside of Harry and Ginny's door.

"Happy Halloween," Harry wished them both, leaning against the door.

Hermione smiled. "Our anniversary."

"Bet neither of you have got me a present, have you?" Ron said sternly although the corner of his mouth was twitching.

"I'm giving you the sight of George turning magenta in a few hours time," Hermione said primly.

Ron turned to Harry with an expectant look.

"Another year of putting up with your crap jokes should count."

While his best friend was smiling, Ron shook his head. "Thank Merlin for mountain trolls, eh?" he grumbled.

"And, with the hair coming out of your ears, you're starting to look like one."

"Oi!"

Hemione, pursing her lips to keep a straight face, placed a placating hand on each of their arms. "Now, now, boys-"

"We're eighty-one!" Harry complained.

She looked from one to the other and sighed. The black and red may have faded to grey and their once youthful faces were now hidden behind wrinkles and jowls, but they were still the same idiots that ran to her rescue and never left her side since. They'd had children, careers and even grandchildren, but the three of them were still going through life together, one - admittedly slower - step at a time.

"And still my boys," she grinned.

They parted ways and shuffled to bed, not seeing the man hiding in the shadows at the end of the hall.

"Oh, Granger, when will you learn?" tutted George, a small potion bottle in his hand. With a rueful shake of his head, he crept to the kitchen, his eyes on the treacle tart and mischief on his mind.

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 _Thanks for reading!_


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